Happy
by Dawn-Of-Indescribable-Colors
Summary: Severus will never stop loving her...alive or not. HOUSE CUP COMPETITION ENTRY: ROUND 3. RATED T FOR LANGUAGE. ONE-SHOT.


**Another entry for the Hogwarts House Cup Competition :) This one is sad, unfortunately. Ironic, isn't it? Here are the prompts:**

**Lyric(for inspiration only): "I had a dream my life would be so different from this hell I'm living."- Les Mis, "I Dreamed a Dream"**

**Proverbial Phrase: Every picture tells a story.**

**Emotion: Restless**

**Object: table**

**Word: pressure**

**Color: grey**

**Bonus Prompts:**

**Genre: Tragedy**

** Dialogue: "I wasn't expecting this."**

** Object: mirror **

**Word: Forgotten**

**Action: A character must keep something a secret**

**Listen to:**

**Love Song Requiem - Trading Yesterday (I seriously recommend it)**

**Enjoy :)**

**PS: LOOK AT THE COVER IMAGE FOR THIS STORY. THIS IS HOW I PICTURE SNAPE. NOT AS ALAN RICKMAN (EVEN THOUGH HE IS A FABULOUS ACTOR) THE LINK TO THE PICTURE IS ALSO AVAILABLE ON MY PROFILE :)**

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_**~ Happy ~**_

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_Hogwarts, 1983_

A teaching position...

After all that happened. All that he'd put him through. That was the old bastard's consolation? His penance for his failure?

A _teaching position. _

Even now, after years had passed, it made his blood boil. He supposed there were two sorts of days. There were good days-days on which he seemed able to forget about that black cancer bleeding through his memories...and then there were bad days. Days when it thrived and ate at him, twisting in his gut and making him wish he were never born.

Those days were, of course, the more frequent.

Today was one of them, and he caught himself digging his fingers into the soft wood of his desk, feeling as if the heartache would split right through his chest, allowing him to finally bleed out all over the table and depart from this wretched world. But his fate was too cruel to permit such a thing.

It would force him to continue existing in his misery long past his mental limit. He was sure of it.

"Severus..." came that soft, golden voice, dripping with its gentle honey. "You mustn't hurt yourself this way."

And as always, it had the effect of liquefying his tension, if only for the time being.

"I know, my darling. I can't help it," he whispered, releasing his grip on the table and turning to face her loveliness. It was the one in the grey frame that had spoken, leaning delicately forward where she sat, a beautiful sympathy in her painted, emerald eyes. The portraits surrounding her nodded and reaffirmed, whispering their sweet nothings.

This was the main reason Severus's office was off limits to students and staff alike. The idea of them laying eyes upon his precious sanctuary tasted something awful. These paintings were for him and him alone.

And to an outer perspective, it would appear to be some perverted sort of obsession. Hundreds of paintings of the same woman, covering every inch of the walls, their lovely auburns locks all portrayed a little differently in brush strokes-every shade of green unique in their eyes.

Perhaps it _was_ an obsession. But not perverse-never perverse.

No disrespect would _ever_ come to his Lily...even if it wasn't truly his Lily after all. Even the portraits knew they were poor replacements for Severus's love. They often told him such, in fact...

_"Severus, you must let go. This can only cause you pain."_

_ "Love, this has gone too far."_

_ "We will never be able to compare."_

_ "Please, Severus."_

_ "__Severus__."_

_ "Severus..."_

And each time the words were said, they struck a deeper, more painful chord within him. He knew why he forced these memories on himself. He knew why he tortured himself with her image day after day, everywhere he turned.

He feared he would forget her.

And to him, that was unforgivable.

With a long, empty sigh, Severus slouched back in his chair, sweeping the black strands from his eyes. He was growing impatient. It should've arrived an hour ago.

When he began to drum his fingers on his desk, a few of the other portraits awakened.

"Severus?" one asked quietly. The one in the blue dress. "What is it you're waiting for this evening?"

"A shipment," he replied, sitting up again, unable to keep still. "A very important shipment. And it's late."

"Tell us, love. What is it?" another beckoned.

He sighed again, yet this breath was all the more uneasy...

"I fear...you will not want to know."

At this, every painting leapt to the front of their frame, panic and concern etched into their oil and watercolor features.

"Severus!"

"Severus?"

"What have you done?"

"No-not poison!"

"Severus!"

"Please, Severus-no-"

He rose a gentle hand to quiet them, shaking his head with a somber smile. "Be calm, my angels. Were it poison I desired, I would have brewed it myself."

By the looks on their faces, this was not a keen joke.

_"Severus!" _several chorused at once.

"Apologies, apologies...a thousand apologies," he spoke over them, lifting both hands to set them at ease. "Though I appreciate your concern, this shipment is of no harm to me. But I worry that..._you_ will not be so pleased. I fear you may feel..._replaced_, in some way. And that is not what I desire."

As if on cue, a heavy knock sounded at his office door, startling many of the portraits. He rose swiftly from his chair and drew a deep breath, giving the frame of the most distressed Lily a gentle stroke as he passed.

The man behind the door was a ratty, scuffled old thing, bearing a toothless grin. And behind him stood a tall object, cloaked in a dirty, white sheet. "Snape, Severus?" he wheezed, reading from a strip of parchment in his yellowed hand.

Severus eyed him with distaste. "Indeed."

"Where will you be wantin' it put, then?"

"You may leave it where it stands and be off," he said crisply, pulling a heavy bag of Galleons from his robes and dropping it into the old man's offered palm.

"Sign right 'ere, Sir."

But as Severus scribbled his name across a line on the sheet provided, he caught the old cod trying to sneak a glance behind him into his office.

Swiftly, Severus adjusted his position, hiding it completely from view with his tall form, and sneered at the creature before him. "You may_ leave_ now."

The old man was quick to scuttle away.

With what must've been his millionth sigh that evening, Severus gently placed his hands on either side of the large object, feeling its weight. The heavy, molded edges felt at home against his palms.

Whispering a quick levitation charm, he deposited the piece in the center of his office, naked but for its sheet to the eyes of all the portraits.

"Oh, Severus..." murmured the pastel painting, "you're frightening us."

He closed and locked his office door promptly, giving the portrait a soft glance. "I'm sorry, love. But this...this is something that I _need."_

And without further ado, he swept the sheet from its frame, revealing the glistening surface of the magnificent, famed mirror. He shut his eyes instantly.

"Severus..." said one of the portraits meekly, "is that-"

"Yes," he breathed, ducking his head. He knew what he wanted to see...what he felt sure he _would_ see...but he was afraid to look. Suddenly, the spending of nearly 10,000 galleons on such an artifact didn't seem such a wonderful decision.

And what if he was wrong?

What if it wasn't her? What if it was something dreadfully selfish? Gold? Revenge? Maybe even death?

The idea twisted in his gut.

"Why do you not look?" asked a painted Lily.

He did not hesitate to answer honestly. "Because I am a coward."

"No, Severus," she said. "You are no coward."

And it was the soft coaxing in her lovely voice that drove him to clench his fists, steeling himself. He would look...even if it killed him.

Drawing a deep, steady breath, he gave himself absolutely no time to back out again and forced his eyes up.

There, in the mirror...was something far more painful than he'd ever expected, and he thought he heard himself utter a small cry of pain.

It was his Lily...his beautiful, warm Lily, life-size and three-dimensional...and she was smiling as she always had been...

But there was someone else in the mirror behind her.

And it wasn't Severus.

It was James Potter.

_ James. Fucking. Potter. _

And he was kissing Lily's neck and clutching her waist and whispering to her as she giggled and smiled back at Severus.

"I...I don't understand..." said Severus weakly. "I wasn't expecting this."

Potter glanced up at him, and he half expected the man to smirk in victory. He'd beat him...even in death.

But the expression on Potter's face was not vindictive...nor at all cruel. It was open and gentle. And Severus didn't understand that either.

"No...no...this isn't what I wanted," he breathed, reaching out toward Lily, then thinking better of it and wrenching his arm away.

"Severus..." whispered a portrait gently. "Perhaps it _is_ what you want."

"How could it _possibly_ be?"

"Because, Severus...you want Lily to be happy...and she is."

And the truth of those damnable words pierced him like a knife.

He sank to his knees before the mirror, misery weighing his body down and sending him swaying into it.

"It goes back," he rasped, drawing his knees up to his chest like a child. "...It goes back first thing tomorrow."

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